Parallel Parking
by Mertiya
Summary: A reporter new to Gotham runs into a little trouble on the way to work and is helped out by a friendly good Samaritan.


**A/N: **I took a wee break from my ongoing fic (_Siren Night_) to bring you this little brainchild. It is courtesy of a harrowing experience I myself had today, with a similar resolution. Except of course, that my rescuer was someone much more mundane (at least, as far as I know, though to be honest, from the main character's point of view, he IS someone fairly mundane). This is dedicated to the lovely gentleman who helped me out today and who is being repaid for it by being cast as Brucie in this fic.**  
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**Parallel Parking**

God, I hate moving. The first thing you have to do is try to find your away around a completely new city, and even with a GPS that's kind of a trial. Then there's the fact that I was moving into a city with one of the highest crime rates in the dear U.S. That's the kind of thing you _don't_ write home about. But I was offered a really well-paying job with the Gotham Times and as my dad always said, I'm a mercenary little thing.

So there I was, trying to get to downtown Gotham at seven o' clock on a Monday morning in time to look bright and professional for my new boss. Of course, I didn't have my parking permit for the company lot yet, but I figured I could just grab some street parking for the time being until I could get in and get my I.D. and my permit and all that stuff.

Of course, since I'd been living in a little Midwestern town for the past two years, I'd forgotten that trying to grab street parking at seven-thirty in the downtown area of a city is pretty much like trying to grab a bite in a tank of sharks at feeding time. I went around the block three times and was starting to get desperate when I finally spotted a teeny-tiny little space squashed between two large SUVs. (Don't get me started on people who drive SUVs).

I mumbled a thanks to my favorite god and pulled up. Then I realized that there was one glaring flaw in my plan. I hadn't parallel parked in at _least_ two years, and I hadn't been very good at it before. I gulped, gripped the wheel so hard my fingers hurt, and flipped my turn signal on.

_Oh please_, I thought. _Just for once, let me not screw this up._

At least there wasn't anybody trying to get around me, since the parking spot I had found was around the block from the main entrance of the newspaper. I steeled my nerves and yanked the wheel hard to the left, then released the brake. I rolled forward before, panicked, I jammed my foot down hard on the brake again. Right. I needed to be in reverse. _Reverse_. I grabbed the gearshift and yanked it backward into reverse, then let up on the brake again.

This time I started pivoting in exactly the wrong direction. I jammed my foot back down on the brake. I _always_ forgot which way to turn the wheel when I was trying to go backwards. Okay, but that was easy. All I had to do was _yank the wheel around all the way to the right_, yeah, that was easy, and then let myself turn. The car started turning the correct direction and I relaxed. Oh yes. I _had_ this.

My car coasted neatly into the parking space—and then I realized that I was four feet or so away from the curb. Okay, so I had to pull out again and get a little closer, but I _almost_ had it. I was sure I almost had it.

Five minutes later, I'd nearly rammed the car ahead of me twice and I was almost crying with frustration. I needed this parking space. I needed to get to work. I looked like a complete _moron_.

Somebody tapped on my window. I sniffed back my tears and turned to look. There was a youngish man with dark hair in a blue pinstripe suit bending down. He yelled something I couldn't hear through the window.

With a nervous gulp, I rolled it down. I have no idea why I did that, I could have been mugged, but I was too stressed out to think straight. "What?" I said.

"Pull right out of the parking space again," he instructed me.

He sounded as if he were used to being obeyed and my muscles listened to him without thinking. He hopped neatly backward as the car swung out into the road again.

"Okay, now pull the wheel to your right and back up, that's it, nice and easy now." I found the car going back in the correct direction and he jogged around behind it and waved me back. "Stop! Turn the wheel to your left and straighten out!"

_Oh. Oh right._ Dimly remembered instructions from my driver's ed class in high school hovered at the back of my mind. Something about an S-shape. Whatever. All I knew was that I was listening to this guy—whoever he was—and it was working. It was actually working, the car was straightening out into the parking space.

"Stop!" I stopped an inch away from knocking into the bumper of the car behind me. "Now just pull forward a little and you're good to go!"

My car slid neatly into the spot reserved for it, and I slammed it into park. My hands were aching and sweating. I tottered out of the car, breathing hard and locked it behind me.

"Thank you," I stammered. The guy who'd been helping me had to be at least six feet tall. He was solid, too, but it was pretty clearly muscle. He had a handsome, square-jawed face, and I blushed as he flashed me a white-toothed grin.

"Think nothing of it. My other car is a nightmare to park—it's much larger than yours. I'm Bruce Wayne, by the way."

He held out a hand for me to shake, and I took it, still a little shell-shocked. Then he glanced up, and I followed his gaze. Outlined against the clouds was a black winged shape within a circle of light. "What's that?" I asked.

"That's the bat signal. They're calling for Batman."

Right. I'd heard a little about that, though not too much, when I was researching Gotham. Of course I'd heard a _ton_ about Batman. I hadn't expected the signal to be so—enormous. I wondered what they did on sunny days. Maybe there weren't any sunny days.

"Well, if you'll excuse me, I've got an appointment I have to keep," Bruce Wayne said.

"Of course," I said, a little flustered. "Thank you again!"

He nodded at me once more and then was gone, pelting off into the dark, overcast morning at a light jog that covered the ground surprisingly fast. I stared at the bat signal for a few more minutes before hurrying inside the newspaper office. "Well, Mr. Bruce Wayne," I muttered. "I owe you one."


End file.
